


Aftermath: Altissia II

by SunshineAndSnark (GoodApollo27)



Series: Aftermath [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Disabled Character, Cartanica dungeon sucked, Chapter 9 Spoilers, Gen, Gladio Being An Ass, Ignis is sad, Introspection, Noctis is moody, Prompto is helpful, Self-Doubt, Upset bros, is an actual tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 12:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12169116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodApollo27/pseuds/SunshineAndSnark
Summary: Another Royal Weapon to collect means another adventure through a dungeon. What should be a quick trip through an old mine in Cartanica becomes a days long trek as Ignis struggles to adjust to his lack of sight, to his loss of purpose, and to the fraying bonds of his dearest friends.





	Aftermath: Altissia II

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to thank my little band of readers and commenters for giving me the motivation to continue this tiny series. Seriously, if not for you guys, my shy ass would have dumped all of this in the bin of self-conscious rejected material. Thank you. Apologies for any formatting oddities; I'm still getting the hang of this. This one isn't beta read, so...yeah...

Chapter 1

 

    Ignis was in hell. Of that, he was certain. Between the horrid stench, the thick muddy swamp water soaking every inch of his clothing and seeping into his boots, the packs of enemies that leaped from the darkness too fast for his clumsy daggers to strike, and the infuriating, _endless bickering_ of Noctis and Gladio… Ignis wondered if he had actually died in that hospital, slipped from his old life and into a corner of hell tailored specifically for him.

    Add a persistent ache in his bones from trudging up and down the treacherous slopes of Cartanica’s abandoned mine all day, backtracking and getting lost and fetching old keys from abandoned sheds… Indeed, he felt a long hot shower and a soft bed would be a necessity in the near future. If they ever made it out and back onto the train in time. Astrals, even their dry, cramped tent sounded like bliss. A Haven had yet to appear, though.

It wouldn’t have been so unbearable, if he weren’t so damned _useless_ . No. To say that he was useless would be to sugarcoat it. He was an _inconvenience._ A bloody liability to the whole group.

At every encounter with the local fauna, Ignis found himself automatically creeping closer to the sounds of battle, to the anguished cries of his comrades as they fought without him. They’d told him to stay back, though certainly he could manage, couldn’t he? What if someone got hurt? He kept most of the curative supplies on his person, and the other three possessed a troubling tendency to grow too absorbed in battle to acknowledge their own wounds.

The first few encounters, he strained to focus on the sounds of his foes, trying to pinpoint their locations as they moved among his comrades. Then, he froze and second-guessed himself. What if he accidentally struck out at one of his friends? The hesitation cost him on several occasions when an enemy deemed him an easy target. If not for the quick actions of the others, The Advisor would have found himself sporting a growing collection of bites and gashes.

The fact that Noctis kept calling to him for aid, an automatic action after the months spent fighting side by side, didn’t make matters any easier. Nor did Gladio’s growling reply that Ignis _couldn’t_ run over to help, so stop asking him. He could only stand at the sides in hum in frustration, fingers twitching on his daggers. Maybe a Falxfang would sneak up behind him and shove him off a high ledge and that would be that.

It wasn’t until he wandered too close to Prompto, putting himself directly next to the explosive crack of gunfire, that Ignis sincerely regretted throwing himself into danger. The sound vibrated straight through his teeth, ripping his world away and plunging him into a ringing void. Panic flooded in as he struggled, feeling arms on him as his sense of balance disintegrated. The sensation called up memories of gunfire raining toward him from a small troop of Magitek Soldiers, of being captured and subdued, his face shoved hard against the wet ground as he stared up at the last thing he would ever see: _Ardyn_.

By the time his hearing returned, he found himself crouched down, shuddering in someone’s arms. Prompto sobbed out apologies from nearby. Ignis almost regretted regaining his ability to hear when Gladiolus tore into him, too shaken to do anything but sit there as the Shield fanned the flames of his humiliation.

Noctis tried to persuade him to stay on the train, not wanting to put his  vulnerable Advisor in danger. Not wanting Ignis to feel like he _had_ to come along. But Noctis’ offer, though well-meant, stung. Deeply. Ignis’ stubborn pride drove him to descend into the hazardous mine as part of the team. At his Prince’s side. Where he had always stood for as long as he could recall. Where he should always remain.

What would he have done with himself trapped on that stuffy train anyway? Stare unseeing out the window, listening to the whispers of pity from the other passengers whenever anyone caught a glimpse of his scarred face? Stumble among the cramped corridors until a kind stranger finally guided him to the restrooms? Fret every five minutes on how the others were getting along without him? No. He’d rather not, thank you.

Only now, his pride hung in tatters. Sopping wet tatters. He couldn’t properly defend himself against attack. Couldn’t aid the others. Couldn’t navigate the slick, uneven terrain without stumbling every few steps. Gods, he couldn’t even keep his hair out of his face. He raked a hand through his formerly spiked bangs, the strands sticky with partially washed out gel. If only he’d managed to stay on his feet. But the packs of Falxfang roaming the area seemed to be taking extra joy in pouncing on Ignis today, shoving him face-first into stagnant puddles and stretches of deep marsh water. Even when he strived to remain out of harm’s way, it seemed that harm sought him out with ease.

 _And_ it had been raining for the last hour; an infuriating drizzle that slicked every stony surface. It did nothing to extinguish the continuous flare of tempers.

When he tripped over another confounded obstacle and fell into yet another damned puddle, Ignis finally stayed down. The splash rang in his ears like broken glass, though he supposed neither Noctis nor Gladio heard over their ceaseless arguing.

“He’s going to get himself killed. You should have let him stay on the train.”

“He didn’t _want_ to, Gladio.You heard him when I asked.”

“Tough. You're supposed to be his King, Noct. So stop moping, start acting like one, and command him!”

“What!? Are you serious!? I...I am _not_ going to _command_ Ignis! He makes his own decisions!”

“His safety’s more important than his opinions! Or are you too scared to stand up to him? You know he can’t make every decision _for_ you.”

    “Can I command _you_ to shut the hell up?”

    “Sorry, but I only take orders from the King, not from some sulking brat.”

“ _He_ is blind, not deaf,” Ignis snarled, the quarreling duo too far off to hear him. Or were they just ignoring him? _Were they going to...no, they wouldn’t leave me behind._

A headache started a steady pulse in his skull, somehow dodging the pain killers that Ignis swallowed down every day. He swore that they made him slow and clumsy. _Yes, it had to be the medicine doing that._

The sound of retreating footsteps accompanied their fading voices as they argued heatedly about the well-being of their teammate. The one that had fallen unnoticed behind them. Ignis let out a stuttered sigh, an area deep behind his eyes aching with... fatigue, or sorrow? He couldn’t tell... Didn’t quite care, at the moment. He was going to lose them, the only family he had left. His uncle: perished in the invasion of the Crown City. His parents: gone before he could form any lasting memories. And now the only ones left: Noctis, Gladiolus, Prompto. His brothers… were they to leave him as well?

The knife that had been plunged into his pride twisted deeper as he lowered his face to the mushy ground, breathing in the scent of rot and gasoline that permeated the whole area. Gladio and Noctis’ voices grew further out of range. They were leaving him… Ignis could barely hear them… But there was a voice missing. Where was-

“Iggy?” A soft voice to his left. A hand fell gently, securely on his shoulder, warm under worn leather. Ignis jumped at the sudden contact, muscles tensing in that automatic fighting instinct. _Calm down, you fool. Falxfang don’t wear fingerless gloves._

“You okay?”

_Prompto._

    Ignis let out a slow breath. _No_ , he wanted to say. _No, he was very much_ not _okay_.

    “Yes,” he ground out, pushing himself to a sitting position, suddenly embarrassed by his childish antics. Rivulets of thick, warm swamp water ran down between his shoulder blades, making him shudder. How indignant he must look.

    He heard Prompto let out a tiny troubled noise, heard the shift of fabric as the gunner crouched down.

    “Ignis… I-I know you like to be...independent and all that...but please, just...um, just let me help you out, okay?” he murmured, words stopping and starting and bumping into one another. “Watching you stumble like that is… um, it's _kinda_ killing me. So... _please?”_

An unpleasant heat rushed across Ignis’ cheekbones, his mouth opening slightly as his mind whirred. How much of his struggle had Prompto witnessed? He thought the gunner would have kept close to Noctis. But then again, the timid young man probably wanted to avoid Gladio as much as possible. So he’d had an audience all this time...lovely. With some effort, he bit back the venomous reply forming on his lips. Prompto didn’t deserve to be a victim of his petty frustration.

During the past week, the young man had done nothing but try his hardest to care for anyone who allowed him. But no one would. They shoved him away, too lost in their own problems to acknowledge his efforts.

And Ignis knew. He knew and still he had lashed out at the worried young man on multiple occasions, giving in to his burning temper more than he wanted to admit. It hurt Prompto. He could hear it in his voice, in the hesitant spaces between his words. Prompto wanted to help, but no one wanted it. And the shy, sensitive young man would take it personally. Ignis knew this as well.

Ignis so dearly desired to kick himself as realization struck hard. Wallowing in his own feelings of inadequacy, clinging relentlessly to his pathetic pride and refusing assistance...he caused Prompto to feel worthless as well… Prompto currently suffered under the same insecurity that weighed on Ignis’ soul, and Ignis was only making it worse.

No one, certainly not Prompto, deserved that. He displayed nothing but steadfast devotion to his comrades throughout this whole mess. According to Gladio, the blonde spent days clinging to Ignis’ bedside like a lost puppy until he woke up. And once Ignis shed his drug-induced stupor for painful reality, the Advisor recalled Prompto spending every visiting hour in his company, chattering nonstop about one thing or another, or humming softly as he played on his phone. Anything to keep Ignis from sitting alone in darkness and silence.

Between visiting himself and Noctis, Ignis wondered if Prompto had dedicated any time toward caring for _himself_. Somehow, Ignis doubted it. He’d never known Prompto to put himself before anyone else. Often at his own expense. He made a quick mental note to make sure that Prompto was eating properly.

Though the bubbly blonde could be a tad difficult to follow as his conversations jumped from topic to topic, on most days, Ignis preferred his company. It was difficult to dwell on negative thoughts while Prompto shared embarrassing stories of Noctis’ high school days that Ignis had never been privy to. He’d learned much about Prompto in those fews days, and something about the gunner’s accepting nature helped Ignis open up as well, preventing him from retreating fully into his own despair-filled mind. Oddly, he and the blonde, so different in personalities, found that they shared much in common with one another.

“It’s...it’s fine...nevermind…” Prompto’s tiny voice cracked under some invisible weight.

With renewed resolve, Ignis clenched his fists hard, his leather gloves squishing in the mud. To hell with it. He shouldn’t be ashamed of accepting help from a friend. From someone who had saved his very life. He _should_ be ashamed for behaving like a bloody _idiot_.

Ignis reached a hand toward where he had heard Prompto moments ago, fingers outstretched. They brushed coarse, damp fabric, and Ignis heard a gentle chuckle.

“That’s my leg, Iggy. Hands are right here.”

Ignis felt two hands carefully wrap around his own, giving a quick squeeze before pulling Ignis upward, helping him stand. Prompto bent to retrieve Ignis’ cane, sliding his other hand to rest firmly just above the Advisor’s elbow. Ignis accepted the cane and felt Prompto’s other hand fall lightly near the slope of his back, ready to guide him forward.

Something close to warmth radiated through Ignis, chasing his insecurities to a distant corner of his mind. It seemed he had forgotten the comfort of physical contact between close companions. All he had felt from anyone in the past few days were the cold hands of detached doctors as they prodded everywhere that hurt. Or the impatient nudges and tugs of Noctis and Gladio.

His lips curled up into a smile, pulling at the almost-healed scar.

“Exactly what I was aiming for,” Ignis stated, drawing on that old well of confidence and composure.

Prompto froze. Then, laughter.

“Whatever you say, Iggs.” Prompto’s voice sounded light and genuinely happy. When had Prompto last sounded like that? Back on the ride to Altissia, hollering with unbridled excitement and joy as their little boat sped over the waves? The blonde likely sported his mile-wide grin, corners crinkling his freckled cheeks, teeth flashing. Oh, he wished he could see it. How long would the images of his friends remain clear in his memory before they faded like an old photo?

An exaggerated huff drew Ignis from his worried thoughts.

“Sheesh. Gladio and Noct _totally_ left us behind!”

Swallowing, Ignis turned his head aside and reached to adjust his glasses, a nervous tic. No longer necessary, he realized.

“My apologies… For slowing us, that is,” Ignis mumbled. The bright feeling brought on by Prompto’s laughter faltered as reality slunk back into Ignis’ heart. The trek would have gone much faster without him. Noct was right. Gladio was right. He should have just stayed on the blasted train. He was of no use to anyone, here. He...he wouldn’t be of use to Noctis….not anymore...would he? What good was he in looking out for someone he couldn’t even _see_ ? A shudder ran through Ignis, his heart rate doubling in speed. How many more times would Noctis ask him to stay behind? How long until...until Noctis just asked him to _leave? What would I do...without Noctis?_

A loud yelp echoed through the rocky walls of the dungeon, and Prompto’s hand slipped from Ignis’ arm as the gunner stumbled. The gloom drifting through Ignis’ thoughts evaporated in an instant as he flailed his hands out, searching for his comrade.

“Prompto? Are you okay?”

Prompto didn’t answer, but Ignis heard him scuffling around nearby. Gladio and Noctis called from ahead. A moment later, the double rhythm of their running footsteps approached, and all attention rested upon Prompto.

 

                                                                                 <>    <>    <>

Prompto had never really handled being the center of attention all that well. He held his breath as Noctis and Gladio approached, thoughts rattling around in his head to the beat of his fluttering heart. He could handle this. He had to. Just get the guys to slow down, just a little.

An image of Ignis sitting on the train, posture hunched toward the window as he curled in on himself settled in his mind. Prompto knew that posture a little too intimately. Trying to look small, to disappear. Damn, if seeing Ignis, broken and half-dead in the hospital had been difficult,  seeing him awake and just as broken, a whole _different_ kind of broken...it was close to impossible. Holding onto that image, Prompto drew in a breath and steeled his nerves, eyes flicking up to the Prince and the Shield.

“Heh. Nice of you two to join us,” Prompto managed to smirk, keeping his voice tight. From the corner of his eye, he watched Ignis’ hand fall to his curative satchel, ready to whip out a potion. Prompto swore that the man could _smell_ distress.

“You alright, Prom?” Noctis asked, velvet blue eyes bright with worry.

“What happened?” Gladio demanded, levelling a hard glare at Prompto as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Prompto winced at Gladio’s forceful tone. He chalked it up to the Shield fighting with Noctis for the past half hour, and just hoped that the anger wouldn’t be redirected his way.  

Gritting his teeth, Prompto glanced down at his left leg. He held it bent, a hand wrapped tightly around his ankle as he balanced on one foot.

“Y-yeah. I...um...just slipped. Think I sprained it.” He tried to put weight on his leg, letting out a sharp hiss before grasping at it again. “Ha...clumsy Prompto,” he shrugged, as if it were that much of a surprise.

Gladio rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air, and Prompto had to bite his lip to keep from flinching.

“Great. Another delay. We’ll be in here for weeks.”

Noctis shot a glare at the man, but bit back whatever he was going to say. Instead, he turned to Prompto, his weary expression softening.

“Wanna use a potion? I’m pretty sure Iggy’s gonna combust if you don’t,” Noctis teased, nodding his head toward his Advisor. Prompto followed his gaze. Yep. Ignis already gripped a potion in his outstretched hand, ready for action. Desperate to be useful... As much as  Prompto _wanted_ to let Ignis help him...

“Um, probably _shouldn’t_ ,” Prompto insisted, nudging Ignis’ hand away with a little more force than he needed. “Who knows what else we could run into? We should save them for the serious stuff. I’ll survive this. Maybe,” he added.

Noctis ran a hand through the limp spikes on the back of his head, ruffling them in thought. His hand came away wet with rain.

“Pretty sure I saw the glow of a Haven just beyond this hill,” he stated, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. A steep slope began its steady rise a few yards away. A dusty path wound lazily upwards, flanked by thin shrubs and patches of marsh grass. “We can call it an early day, I guess. It’ll be getting dark soon, anyway.”

“Sounds good,” Prompto agreed. “If I don’t pass out, first.”

“I can always order Gladio to carry you.”

Prompto looked from Prince to Shield. Was Noctis joking or just trying to annoy Gladio? He hoped for the former. Gladio’s sour mood had been stewing since their trek started, and Prompto _really_ didn’t want to provoke the big guy any further.

“Just kidding! Uh, I should be good. Maybe just slow it down a little? Don’t want to fall behind and become a Falxfang snack.”

“Like it’d want _your_ bony ass,” Noctis teased, though his tone sounded hollow and tired. “Anyway...I’m going a bit further ahead. Scout out the area, and stuff. Clear away any enemies for you and Ignis.”

“Much appreciated, Noct,” Ignis nodded, though Prompto couldn’t help but frown. Despite his best efforts to get the group to slow down and travel together, Noctis still found a way to wander off ahead. Did Noct not _want_ to be around them?

 _Don’t be selfish, dude,_ Prompto scolded himself. His friend had too much to worry about to focus all of his attention on a simple injury. A simple injury that didn’t even _exist_ . _Oh, well. Mission mostly accomplished._

As Gladio stalked off, mumbling something about going ahead to get the tent set up, Prompto turned to face Ignis. The man stood silently, head tilted toward Prompto, brow furrowed in his classic ‘Iggy is Thinking’ expression.

“Better get a move on, Iggster,” he chirped, maybe a little too cheerfully for someone who was supposed to be in pain. He started to walk, but noticed that Ignis failed to follow.

The Advisor’s mouth opened ever so slightly in realization, a tinge of pink sweeping across his cheekbones. Prompto couldn’t help but grin as he beheld such a rare sight: a dumbstruck Ignis. Not every day you got to see _that_. His fingers itched for his camera, but he resisted.

“Your...your footsteps sound perfectly normal. You’re not...You didn’t injure yourself, did you, Prompto?” Ignis asked, lips set in a thin line as his gaze settled slightly over Prompto’s shoulder.

_Uh-oh. Busted..._

 

                                                                                       *    *    *

“Ignis! Are you accusing me of _lying_ to Noct!? I’m...I’m _hurt!_ ” the gunner pouted.

Ignis shook his head slowly, grinning. He didn’t have to see Prompto to know that the blonde was striking some over-dramatic pose.

“Thank you…” Ignis murmured, not really knowing how to feel about Prompto’s actions. He didn’t want to be pitied. But...was Prompto motivated by pity, or some protective urge? By his ever-present desire to be helpful, to alleviate the despair of others?

“I didn’t-! Wait...for what?”

“For going out of your way to spare my unnecessary pride. Your concern for others never fails to astound me,” Ignis sighed. Whatever the motivation, the least he could do was repay Prompto with honesty and appreciation.

“Yeah...well...it’s no big deal.” Ignis could practically _hear_ the bashful excitement that overtook Prompto every time he received a compliment. “Besides, how many times have _you_ saved _my_ ass?”

“Touche’” Ignis conceded. He felt Prompto’s arm carefully slip through his own, linking them at the elbow as the blonde guided him forward. Sure enough, Ignis felt warmth emanating from Prompto, his bare skin flushed with giddy embarrassment.

They moved slowly, though Ignis’ confidence increased as he tapped his way along with his cane, able to concentrate on the terrain with Prompto at his side and Noctis far ahead, clearing their path. Every so often, they heard his battle cries mingled with the shrieks of dying foes. _Noctis sounds a little more... feisty than usual,_ Ignis noted. Perhaps the Prince was venting his frustrations on the local wildlife.

Regularly, Noctis circled back around, checking in on the two, walking with them for a while before he grew too impatient with their slow pace and ventured off. Prompto adjusted his gait to a shuffling limp whenever he saw Noctis approach, keeping up his facade. They didn’t run into Gladio.

Prompto engaged in cheery small talk as they crept along, trying to both lighten the mood a little further, and pass the time. Despite the energetic young man’s tendency to become twitchy and nervous in stressful situations, Ignis detected nothing but kind-hearted patience. The superfluous movements and antsy twitches somehow reigned in for the time being.

Ignis attempted to join Prompto in conversation, discussing everything from the basics of lighting and filter usage in photography, to each of their favorite kinds of foods and how to properly prepare them in a dish. However, Prompto’s tireless exuberance and tendency to jump topics without warning eventually left his head spinning, and Ignis found himself thoroughly exhausted in both body and mind by the time they crested the hill.

“Up one side, then back down the other…” Prompto mumbled in a sing-song voice. “We’ll have to be, like, extra careful, here. It’s pretty steep going down.” He adjusted his arms around Ignis’ lower back and near shoulder before slowly striding forward, calling out warnings when the ground became loose or riddled with stones. He stayed close, steadying Ignis every time he stumbled. Quick hands saved the Advisor from more than a few nasty falls.

“Hey, I can see the tent from here!” Prompto exclaimed with a little bounce. “Looks like Gladio managed on his own.”

Ignis’ stomach soured. Camp meant all of them huddled up together in a confined space. He felt...nervous… He knew how the Shield felt about having him along. Gladio no longer thought of Ignis as capable of remaining by his King’s side. It felt like one of Ignis’ own daggers stabbed deep into his back. Years spent training with Gladio had forged a strong bond of friendship, of brotherhood between the two as they challenged and supported one another, driven in their shared desire and duty to serve Noctis. He and Gladiolus composed a team built on mutual trust and respect. And now, Gladio wanted him to remain behind. Tossed aside like some broken trinket, something that could no longer serve its purpose. It felt like betrayal.

“Finally! Feel like I’m gonna’ fall over!” Prompto exclaimed. “Oh! Sorry! We’re at the Haven, Iggs,” he added in a rush, as if remembering that Ignis couldn’t see what he was talking about.

“I guessed as much,” Ignis reassured with a small nod.

The gunner tugged him forward, steering him to one of the canvas chairs set up by Gladio. Ignis tried not flop too eagerly off of his aching feet. However, he did allow himself the slightest hint of a slouch against the back of the chair. He had more than earned the right to slouch, had he not?

“Just got the fire started,” came the gruff voice of Gladio from nearby.

“Gooood! I’m about to _starve_ over here. Even my _boots_ are starting to look kinda tasty,” Prompto whined. “And that’s saying something, because these things are seriously nasty…”

He trailed off as a heavy feeling descended over the camp, the group falling into an awkward silence.

Ignis fidgeted in his seat, tilting his head downwards. Now was when he usually asked what everyone fancied for dinner, throwing in his own suggestions before finally settling on something with a crisp, confident snap of his fingers. Shame burned through him, creating a painful tightness behind his ruined eyes.

Yet another duty that he could no longer perform.

Ignis sunk his tired body deeper into the chair, tuning out the voices of his companions as they discussed their options. Becoming lost in his own whirling thoughts proved all too easy with the absence of visual distractions. He couldn’t check the time, either, and would rather not repeatedly trigger the voice command on his phone. _To hell with it… Like you need your precious schedules, anymore._ Besides, he’d rather not draw attention to himself. So he sat. And thought. And waited in the dark. At least the rain had stopped and he could enjoy the heavenly warmth of the campfire.

The feeling of a tepid tin can against his hands startled him. His fingers automatically wrapped around the metal cylinder as he wondered how long he had sat there, daydreaming.

Noctis, Gladio, and even Prompto remained silent throughout the sad excuse for a meal, though Ignis picked up on the rhythmic rustling of Prompto’s jeans as the gunner’s leg bounced in a nervous twitch. Tension hung so thick among the camp, Ignis imagined slicing a chunk from thin air with a quick swipe of his dagger. Eventually, Gladio left the group with a low grumble, stomping off to the edge of the Haven to eat on his own. Noctis let out an annoyed hiss, but didn’t question the Shield.

Ignis ate without tasting, which was probably a blessing. The soup sat heavy in his stomach, though it did little to soothe the emptiness. At least, he thought it was soup. A paltry imitation, at best. Too thin for a stew, too thick and mucousy for a soup. Ignis’ stomach rolled as he debated what _exactly_ he had just consumed. So much information denied to him in the departure of a single sense…

He chose to nibble instead on one of the few pieces of toast to have survived Noctis’ cooking attempt. The raven-haired prince assured Ignis that he hadn’t burned more than a fourth of a loaf, though Ignis suspected a severe miscalculation, if not an outright lie. Noct’s poorly practiced cooking skills left much to be desired. Very much.

With a heavy sigh, Ignis supposed he would have to grow accustomed to more lying, as well.

His jaw clenched with a sudden realization: maintaining Noctis’ diet now required extra vigilance. The Advisor harbored little doubt that the finicky Prince would take advantage and scoot his vegetables off onto someone else’s plate. A problem, indeed.

Perhaps...he could enlist Prompto’s help. If he framed it as a prank or as a game, he may be able to shift the gunner’s loyalties into his own favor.

As if summoned by Ignis’ thoughts, the click of a camera powering up sounded from nearby. A short, tentative intake of air, and Prompto spoke, voice quiet and hesitant.

“Hey...I-I took some pictures, today. Do...you wanna see ‘em?”

 _Grasping at routine,_ Ignis observed. _At normalcy._

Noctis didn’t answer right away.

“Not...really…” he finally sighed, forcing the words out with effort.

“Oh…Okay, then…”

A stretch of stifling silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the tapping of someone’s spoon.

“So, yeah... I’m just gonna’...gonna go to bed…” Prompto mumbled. “‘S gonna be a long day, tomorrow...”

The camera clicked off, and Prompto slunk away like a wounded Voretooth. The crisp zip of the tent flap closing followed his departure.

Ignis dug his fingers into his palms, trying to shove Prompto’s resigned tone from his head. He would have looked at the photos. Just to make Prompto happy. But…how could... This was all his fault...

A small growl of frustration slipped from Noctis as the Prince drew a hand roughly through his hair.

“Noct?”

“‘M fine, Iggy,” Noctis mumbled, though the strain in his voice spoke otherwise. It spoke of grief and fury and fear, all knotted up inside with no hope of untangling.

 _I’m sorry._ Ignis wanted to say it, but the words died in his throat. If he expressed his guilt to Noctis, the Prince would only feel worse. Either way, he would let Noctis down.

“Gonna’ go to bed, too,” Noctis announced after a moment of heavy silence.

“It would be best to be well-rested for tomorrow,” Ignis agreed without much feeling. “Who knows what perils we may face.”

Noctis guided Ignis into the tent, helping him situate in his usual spot between Noctis and the side. The Advisor didn’t know how long it took for his tired body to at last succumb to sleep. He didn’t know if Gladio ever joined them. He didn’t know if Prompto slept at all that night. He didn’t know if Noctis still wanted him at his side…

Ignis hated not knowing…

_Hell, indeed._

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I feel like the unofficial theme song for this is "Am I Awake?" by They Might be Giants. I listened to it nonstop to help get my mind in the right mood for this. Give it a listen, if you like.


End file.
